disclaimer: don't own any characters, don't own the song "The Red" by Chevelle, don't have the rights, just copy pasting the lyrics.

claustrophobia

n : a morbid fear of being closed in a confined space

Claustrophobia

Harry walked through the corridor, students talking merrily and laughing quietly. The crowd grew more portentous, almost like a calculated invasion of space, his thoughts grew just like the crowd. Ron at his right side, grinning over at Hermione next to him, their hands laced like woven rings. Ignored, he lay ignored.

They say freak
When your singled out
The red...
It filters through

The thoughts grew and panic leeched to his mind. Too close. Too many. Emotions. His private disaster was probing again and again at the open wound, making it bleed, more blood, so sweet. Someone was calling his name, to the left, Ginny, her braided hair pacing up and down her back, hypnotizing.

So lay down
The threat is real
When his sight
Goes red again

He smiled, fallen smirk, how ironic. She attached herself to his side, he didn't care, she smiled back hoping that he wouldn't notice her ragged hair of dry lips, she wanted to look presentable for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Seeing red again

His head turned mechanically forward, walking this walk as if it were his first and last. And the crowd grew larger, the flock of seagulls above the sky, just waiting to be killed by a psychopath, waiting.

This change
He won't contain
Slip away
To clear your mind
When asked
What made it show?
The truth
He can't send to most

More people, his people, his secret enemies, his hated friends, all around him, his cavalry, to his war, his one-man army. It would end. All end. Sweet sweet misanthropy.

Seeing red again

Rage grew like the incubating bacteria in his lungs. The panic leaked through his magic. Unleashed, it was finally unleashed. Then all, went black. Screams. Silence. Sent of death. Harry smirked.

Me me me me me, all alone, by myself, I can be whoever I want, all gone, all dead, too late, too late…

They say freak
When your singled out
The red....
It filters through

And Harry walked down the hall, the bodies strewn about, his nice cocoon of hate, built up with love, the love for everything dead. The only way he could love any body. Someone else's problem now, he could do anything, he was the Boy-Who-Lived.